


Like a Glove

by kataurah



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance, Smut, re-post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataurah/pseuds/kataurah
Summary: Abby has watched with interest the slow integration of the different cultures in the bunker, the exchange of language, customs, and yes, clothing, and the thought of picking something new, of trading for it herself, is very appealing.In which Abby's new leather jacket has an origin story, and Marcus likes it alot.





	Like a Glove

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post of a fic that was previously on here. I'll always remember that I wrote this fic after my first Unity Days after some memorable discussions with some wonderful friends. I'm thankful for all the people this show has brought into my life.

On the earth of old, Abby knows, clothing could be used as a form of expression, of statement; _style_ was the term. They had never been afforded such luxury on the Ark. Clothing was merely distributed and re-distributed based on functionality and need. There was no room for things that would be viewed as unnecessary or frivolous. Therefore Abby's experience of choosing clothing for herself has always been limited to what was available and what best served it's purpose. Perhaps, just occasionally, colour preference had been a factor, but practicality and comfort took precedence.   
  
True, her options are still limited; like on the Ark, resources in the bunker have to be constantly recycled, re-purposed, and grounder clothing always seems to be an interesting mix of fabrics cobbled together anyway. Abby has watched with interest the slow integration of the different cultures in the bunker, the exchange of language, customs, and yes, clothing, and the thought of picking something new, of trading for it herself, is very appealing.   
  
Anyone would get sick of wearing the same damn thing everyday eventually, no matter how practical a person they were. Abby tells herself there's no shame in wanting to dress in something that makes one carry themselves with confidence or project a certain image: most grounders in her experience have always bulked up with layers of leather, fur and metal to further their impression of strength and intimidation. Besides, there's not a whole lot to feel good about whilst they're stuck down here.   
  
Abby doesn't have a whole lot by way of possessions to barter with, however, so she hovers around the trading post - which is steadily growing into a market - eyeing the leather jackets longingly and trying to figure out how she can acquire one. She reaches out and touches the sleeve of the nearest, the leather soft and worn beneath her fingertips.   
  
The grounder woman running the trading post catches her eye and smiles at her. Abby doesn't know which clan she is from, but it's likely she knows who Abby is; she is one of Skaikru's only two doctors after all, and the partner of the Skaikru ambassador. So many of the grounders still radiate open hostility towards Skaikru, but this woman, with her open and welcoming demeanour, puts Abby at ease. She reminds her of Niylah, who is quickly becoming integral to the running of medical, with her calming presence, knowledge of healing, and ability to mediate between the Skaikru doctors and grounder patients.   
  
"You like it?" The woman at the stall asks, her English slow and careful and clearly for Abby's benefit; it makes her want to return the gesture.  
  
"Em laik... mazin?" She offers, clumsily, her statement lilting up at the end, questioning her translation. _They're_ _beautiful_.   
  
The other woman smiles again, nodding in appreciation, "You want to trade?"   
  
"I..." Abby gives up trying to speak Trigedasleng; she really needs to prioritise learning the language, more than ever now. Lessons with Marcus can often be distracting in a way that switches Abby's brain off entirely. Perhaps Nylah... "I don't have anything to trade right now," She explains, "Perhaps another time."   
  
The woman's English is better than Abby's Trig, and she nods again, "Another time." She looks Abby up and down in thoughtful consideration, "It would suit you, though."   
  
Abby smiles back; she's clearly good at what she does without being too pushy, "I'm sure."  
  


* * *

  
She doesn't go near the trading post for a couple days, barely even sees Marcus in between sleeping and working, since medical gets rushed off its feet when miscommunication between Skaikru and the other clans causes an engineering accident. No one is killed, but a teenage grounder boy is severely injured under the crush of heavy metal, and Abby works relentlessly around the clock to save his leg and keep him from bleeding out entirely.    
  
She's running on pure determination and adrenaline by the time he's finally stable, and when the world comes flooding back, there's not a part of Abby that doesn't ache, having held herself standing and tense for hours on end. She feels as though she's possibly passed the point of exhaustion and now exists in sleepless delirium, but a sense of relief fills her that, in saving the boy's life, she's managed to stop the grounders from laying more blame at Skaikru's feet and avert any potentially violent confrontations.    
  
Jackson and Niylah insist that she go home and sleep for a while, and Abby decides she's satisfied in leaving their patients under the former's expert watch, whilst the latter walks her home.    
  
"I'm not about to collapse," Abby grumbles at her chaperone.    
  
Niylah's lips twitch, "You haven't seen yourself." She teases, good-naturedly.    
  
Abby can't help the snort that escapes; it's nice to laugh again, and to have a female friend to do so with. She finds she likes Niylah a lot and enjoys working with her.    
  
They cross the main open floor of the bunker, people milling around them, and are walking past the trading post when Abby feels a light touch on her shoulder. She turns to find the woman she'd exchanged words with here a couple days ago, the same easy smile on her face, holding out a leather jacket to her.   
  
"For you."    
  
Abby is caught off guard, but before panic that she still doesn't have anything to give in return can set in, she is already taking a good long look at what the woman is offering her. The jacket seems to have been pieced together with what is likely spare panels of leather, raw seams running down the length of the arms and two strips stitched into the sides functioning as belts. It's rough, a little messy, the leather worn with age and use, and Abby loves it immediately.    
  
But still... "I don't have anything to give you for it." She says apologetically, but the woman shakes her head, gives the jacket in her hands a little shake for emphasis,   
  
"A... gift?" She glances at Niylah, who is standing next to Abby, watching the exchange in interest, and launches into what Abby assumes to be a proper explanation in Trigedasleng. It's way too fast for Abby to follow, but Niylah's expression is soft and she's nodding along, responding with the odd word or two, before she finally turns to Abby.    
  
"Eva is grateful for all that you do to take care of us, for saving that young boy's life today. She sees how hard you work, and saw your interest in the clothes at her stall, so she made this for you."    
  
_ Made _ for her? The only things Abby has ever had made specifically for her were the arts and crafts Clarke brought home from school for her as a child, and she feels a little overwhelmed at the enormity of such a gift from a stranger. There is also a part of her that feels slightly uncomfortable accepting it; it's not as though she does what she does for payment or reward. It's her job - more than that, her  _ calling _ in life - to keep them all alive and relatively healthy for their remaining time down here, and no doubt for long after that, too.    
  
It would come across as rude and ungrateful not to take it, though, especially when the woman - Eva, she reminds herself - has clearly worked hard. So Abby reaches out and grasps the supple leather, lifting it out of Eva's hands and holding it up for a moment to examine it up close, a little, giddy bubble of excitement growing in her chest at the thought of wearing it.    
  
So she does, slipping it on and revelling in the way it fits her perfectly and still feels like a substantial enough layer of clothing that it would ward off any chill in the air.    
  
"You look good," Niylah says with approval, then with a mischievous raised eyebrow, "I'm sure Kane will appreciate it."    
  
Abby fights to keep her face looking nonchalant even as a little tendril of heat curls in her lower belly because isn't  _ that _ an interesting thought? She can't deny, in the privacy of her own mind, what she knows her own reaction would be if Marcus came walking up to her in that  _ way _ of his, all mussed hair and that infuriating smirk on his face, dressed in leather and completely unaware of just how goddamn attractive he is...    
  
Feeling slightly flushed, Abby smiles to herself, then at Eva in thanks, "Mochof," She thanks her, "I love it."    
  
The secret, pleased smile doesn't leave her face for the rest of the walk back to the quarters she shares with Marcus, walking a little straighter -  _ preening _ , she mocks herself - Niylah's arm linked loosely through her own.    
  
"Perhaps you will let me braid your hair sometime?" She suggests.  _ Well, in for a penny... _ Abby thinks.   
  
"Tomorrow?" She asks Niylah, as they reach her door, and the other woman smiles as if she knows that Abby is formulating a plan.    
  
"Tomorrow. Good night, Abby."    
  
The room is dimly lit by a table lamp when Abby slips inside. She folds her jacket carefully away in a drawer, strips down quickly, and gratefully sinks down on the bed, curls into the warmth of a half-asleep Marcus' arms. He murmurs something adorably incoherent into her shoulder and presses a kiss to her skin; Abby laces her fingers through his where his arm is wrapped securely around her waist, and lets herself succumb to the pull of sleep.    
  
Her last thought as she drifts off is how she can't wait to surprise him.    
  


* * *

  
It's all worth it just for the look on Marcus' face when he sees her wearing it for the first time.    
  
He'd kissed her goodbye early that morning as she still dozed in bed, loathe to disturb her too much, letting her get as much sleep as possible before she'd had to drag herself back down to medical. Abby had checked in with Jackson, who'd raised an eyebrow at her new attire, but had otherwise carried on as normal, and had reviewed the status of her patients, before giving Niylah free reign with her hair. Then she'd made her way up to what had been Cadogen's office, now the Commander's,  _ Octavia's _ , using the excuse of asking the council for updates on the accident, and briefing them on the progress of those injured.    
  
It isn't exactly a lie, those are things she genuinely needs to do, it's just not her primary motive in venturing up there. She isn't sure if she imagines the eyes on her person as she walks through the bunker, feeling conspicuous, particularly when she passes members of Skaikru, but confident. Abby isn't sure if she feels unlike herself, or more herself than she's felt in a long time. She understands, now, why Octavia, at first, felt the urge to dress like a grounder in order to perhaps find a sense of strength and belonging within herself. It isn't just a costume if it helps you put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.    
  
And it isn't just a costume when your lover's eyes darken with desire at the very sight of you, with a sharp intake of breath, tongue unconsciously darting out to wet his lips. Marcus' gaze rakes over her like a physical caress; he looks for all the world like he wants to devour her, and Abby has to fight the shiver that runs through her, desire and the heady feeling of  _ being _ desired racing like an electrical current under her skin.    
  
Everyone else in the room is blinking in surprise rather comedically; Octavia, their stoic, fearsome leader, looking between Abby and Marcus as though she is torn between laughing and making vomiting noises. There are still flashes of the teenage girl she actually is sometimes, and they make Abby both happy and sad all at once.    
  
"Abby," It is Jaha who breaks the silence and greets her in a sardonic tone, and, God, how she wishes he didn't have to be here, but it is his department that they are discussing after all. (His department, his screw up.) "I see you've gone native."    
  
"Looks good," Octavia interrupts, sharply, shooting a glare at Jaha.   
  
"Agreed," Indra says, looking at Abby with a speck of approval on her otherwise forever impassive face, "Wouldn't you say so, Kane?" And Abby swears her lips twitch as she addresses her friend, who now looks slightly dazed, and, Abby notices, is holding the data pad in his hands in front of his crotch in an attempt to hide certain... reactions. Abby bites her lip, all at once amused and turned on herself that she has that kind of effect on him.    
  
"I..." She sees the moment he has to mentally shake himself, trying to find some semblance of control again, "Very much so," It comes out a little huskier than usual, the kind of sounds he makes when his voice is roughened by arousal, and it's all she can do not to gasp aloud, a rush of wetness suddenly soaking her underwear. Marcus clears his throat.    
  
"Was there something you needed, Abby?" Jaha, again, speaking once more as though this is his room to command, and Abby wrenches her eyes away from Marcus' to bypass the other man completely and direct her reply entirely at Octavia.    
  
"An update to the damage report on the accident," She waves the file she's brought with her, "Those who were injured and their current medical status."    
  
"Did we lose anyone?" Indra asks, and Abby does not miss her brief accusing glare in Jaha's direction.    
  
"It was a close thing, but everyone is stable." Abby says, "Where are we on repairs?"    
  
Before anyone else can respond, Marcus steps closer towards her, "I can fill you in on that, there was some - um - inventory we needed to discuss, too, remember?"    
  
Well, that cut right to the chase, Abby thinks, aware that they're both standing in a room full of people and fighting to keep a straight face. "Doing inventory" has quickly become their code for: I want to drag you back to our room right now and fuck you senseless. Marcus certainly isn't wasting any time.    
  
Abby decides to tease him just a little, frowning and feigning ignorance, "Was there?"    
  
He purses his lips a little against a smile, facing her down like he's accepting a challenge, and for a moment his bearing and posture remind her of how he was on the Ark. Except now he's hiding a growing erection and she finds that hint of competitiveness far too attractive. She wonders if part of her always did, if that had perhaps been one of the sources of her frustration with him that she never let herself think about.    
  
"I mentioned it this morning but you were half asleep," He says, "I assure you, it's quite pressing."    
  
"Urgent inventory," Abby states, with a rush of affection and amusement for how ridiculous they are in this moment.   
  
Marcus nods, "Very."    
  
"Better get on that, then."    
  
They're too caught up in each other and the delicious tension building between them upon exiting the room to hear Octavia sigh:   
  
"Do they really think they're being subtle?"    
  


* * *

  
Marcus immediately has her hand in his, pulling her along, and Abby finally giggles,   
  
"Eager, much?"    
  
He flashes her a smile full of wicked promise over his shoulder, then makes an unexpected turn through a door that Abby has never given any previous thought to. In one swift motion, it seems, Marcus is flipping a switch on the wall, dimly illuminating the small room, shutting and locking the door, and then he is pressing her back against the wall, the hard planes of his body warm and familiar, kissing her like nothing in his life will ever be more important than the taste of her mouth in this very moment.    
  
Abby kisses him back just as fervently, his lips and tongue hot and insistent against her own, scratching her nails lightly through his beard and delighting in the rumble it elicits, deep in his chest, in response. Abby can feel the bulge of Marcus' arousal pressed against her lower stomach and the ache building between her legs throbs in response. She tilts her hips towards his, grinding, and Marcus breaks the kiss on a groan, panting.    
  
He looks down at her in the gloom, eyes heavy lidded, lips red and wet and parted slightly. Abby slides her hands from his broad shoulders into the curls at the nape of his neck and watches his eyelashes flutter in pleasure.    
  
"God, you look incredible." He murmurs, hoarsely, looking her up and down once again, fingers drifting up to trace the rows of delicate braids at her temples, her hair then gathered together in her looser, signature braid, pulled over one shoulder.   
  
Abby glances down at herself, "Oh, this?" She smiles up at him again, "You like this, do you? Can't say I noticed."    
  
Marcus huffs a laugh and nuzzles into her neck, "Tease."    
  
Abby tilts her head back to give him better access, and as Marcus manoeuvres them away from the wall, lips, tongue and teeth lavishing the sensitive skin of her neck, Abby actually takes a moment to observe the room he's dragged her so impatiently into.    
  
It looks like a disused surveillance room. Just a small bulb, a control panel, and wall full of lifeless screens, all covered with a thick layer of dust that lends a softness to the light the room, and a chair bolted to the floor that's seen better days. Not the most comfortable or illustrious spot, but neither of them care.    
  
Abby clutches a silky fistful of Marcus' hair, gasping as he nips at her clavicle, the rub of his beard shiver inducing, and lets him steer her back to lean on the desktop. She starts tugging at his grey, worn shirt, eager to get to his skin, at the same time as his hands fly to the button and zipper of her jeans. Her hips buck of their own accord and they both hiss as Marcus cups her through her damp underwear, fingers pressing just barely where she wants him.    
  
His forehead finds hers as he strokes her for a moment, his touch a pleasurable burn of not-enough, the two of them breathing shared air, but is forced to pull away when Abby pulls his shirt over his head. She can feel his muscles quivering beneath her hands, still so responsive to her touch, every time like it is the first time they've done this. Her fingertips trace the now familiar pathways over strong shoulders and pectorals, chasing the sparse trail of hair over the slightest paunch of his belly; she knows and loves every inch of this man.    
  
Before she can dip below his waist band, Marcus is sinking down before her, as though kneeling in supplication, and she knows, with a shudder of anticipation, he fully intends to worship her: it's a sight she'll never tire of. He makes quick work of unlacing her boots and peeling off her pants, then leans in and kisses her hipbone as he drags her underwear down the length of her legs, fingertips whispering against her skin.    
  
Abby starts undoing the belts on her jacket and Marcus looks up sharply,   
  
"Don't," He whispers, swallowing, thumbs circling her inner thighs, "... Leave it on?"   
  
Oh, he  _ really _ likes it, she realises, mouth curling into a knowing smirk even as the look of pure want in his eyes is making her breathless.    
  
"Okay..." She replies in equally hushed tones, and watches as Marcus guides her one leg over his shoulder, breaking her gaze to turn his head and press tickling kisses up towards his destination. Abby curls her toes against his bare back and flings her spare hand out to steady herself, gasping when she feels his tongue finally part her folds, licking torturously slowly at first, in the way he knows drives her insane.    
  
He laps at the wetness gathered at her entrance, nose nudging her clit, letting out those little groans of enjoyment at her taste that Abby is never sure he's even aware he's making. Marcus  _ loves _ doing this to her; she enjoys going down on him too, enjoys reducing him to a begging, quivering mess with her mouth, but she swears Marcus would die a happy man if he could go out with his mouth buried between her thighs.    
  
"Marcus..." His name comes out as a little whine of frustration, and Abby tightens her grip on his hair, directing his mouth to the place she needs it most. She glances down to find him watching her, eyes dancing with mischievous delight, before her eyes slam shut and her hips jerk upwards as his lips close around her swollen clit, tongue flicking, firm and precise. " _ Yesss _ ..."    
  
Pleasure, white hot and tingling, is spreading from her core and through her lower belly, from where Marcus' mouth and the prickle of his beard are relentless against her slippery, sensitive flesh. Abby eases her grip on his hair to run shaking fingers through it instead, making him hum in response, sucking on her clit at the same time, and, oh god, she's so close, so close her thighs are trembling... The waves of heat and tension have her teetering on the edge, until she feels one long, dexterous finger press inside and crook forwards... and then she's crying out. Her orgasm crashes through her like lightning, and Marcus' mouth stays on her throughout, savouring her as she rocks against his tongue.    
  
Abby reaches for him as she comes back to herself, panting and a little too warm in the leather that clings to her upper body, but draws him in close anyway, wrapping her arms and legs around him and kissing him, messy and open mouthed. His beard is damp with her, and Abby, smiling blissfully, wipes half-heartedly at his chin, whilst Marcus simply looks down at her with adoration in his eyes.    
  
"Mmmm, now you," She hums, reaching down to squeeze him where he is desperately hard and straining through his jeans.   
  
Marcus makes a noise between a groan and a whine, and drops his head to her shoulder as she pops the button on his pants and slowly draws his zipper down. He's panting by the time Abby frees his cock, hot, irregular puffs of breath as she strokes him leisurely, seeking out the places he's particularly sensitive through memory of touch alone.    
  
The sudden thought of Marcus' reaction to her appearance, and the feeling of empowerment that's filled her ever since she slipped the jacket on, makes Abby want to be the one to fuck  _ him _ ; to ride him until they're both exhausted and trembling. His face registers momentarily confusion when she nudges him back, away from her, but when she follows him from where she was perched on the desk and pushes him down into the chair, quickly straddling his lap, he's flashing her a feral grin, staring up at her with lust-blown pupils. She wastes no time in rising up on her knees, positioning them both whilst Marcus steadies her at the waist, fingers digging into leather, then sinking down onto him in one long, slow glide that has them both moaning in relief.    
  
Having Marcus inside her always feels like coming home; it makes Abby feel  _ real _ and tethered to the person he still believes her to be. The person she wants to be. She strokes his face and kisses him, deep and tender and urgent all at once, then she starts to move.    
  
Marcus has no control or leverage to thrust up in this position; he's completely at her mercy and happy to be there, even as Abby tortures him with slow, undulating movements. That is until he starts fumbling at the front of her jacket, pulling it open enough so that he can yank down the low neckline of her tank top, the worn out elastic of her bra, exposing her breasts to his hungry mouth.    
  
He sucks her nipple into the warm heat of his mouth, laving with his tongue, just a hint of teeth, and the shock of sensation shatters Abby's careful rhythm. Gripping his shoulders, she rises and falls, slamming her hips into his until he's hitting a spot deep inside that sends those waves of pleasure pulsing through her again. She feels Marcus swelling and throbbing within her, and  _ knows _ moments before a deep growl of her name is torn from him, face buried in her neck, and his whole body goes tense in her arms as he comes, shuddering and gasping.    
  
Abby doesn't quite get there again, but she doesn't care, content to hold Marcus as he recovers and let the thrum of her own pleasure settle down. She combs her fingers through his hair and kisses his sweaty forehead, wrinkling her nose at how hot and sticky she herself feels now, still wrapped up in close-fitting leather.    
  
"I hate to break it to you, but I'm going to have to take this off eventually." She tugs her shirt back into place and smiles, amused, when Marcus practically pouts. "I'm sweaty and gross."    
  
"You're never gross," He replies, seriously, and Abby raises an eyebrow. "That's my line, and I'm sticking to it."    
  
She shakes her head, giggling into his mouth as they exchange sweet, unhurried kisses.    
  
"You know I'm getting you into leather next."    
  
Marcus smirks, "Oh, I'm counting on it." 


End file.
